Blue In Her Eyes
by rycewritestrash
Summary: Bellamy gets a surprise visitor while still coming down from the eclipse toxin. {Prequel to Tell Me It's Okay To Feel The Way I Feel About You} (Season/Series 06, Canon Divergence, Ignores 90% of canon honestly, Angst, Delirium, Eclipsing Suns, Hallucinations, One-Shot, Drabble)


The first thing that crosses Bellamy's mind when he wakes up to the soft graze of her fingertips is that he's dreaming.

"Bellamy?" she whispers, breath fanning over his mouth.

One jerk of his arm, cool metal clasped against his wrists, and he's jolted back to the present-the suns eclipsing, potentially going mad and trying to murder all his friends, handcuffing themselves in separate rooms until the delirium passes . . .

Same shit, different planet-_moon_. Whatever.

_Not a dream then _, he thinks, greedily leaning into the press of her palm against his cheek despite his better judgement, _hallucination, definitely. _

"You shouldn't be here."

"I missed you," she admits, snuggling up to him. He scoots over to make room, but she seems intent on rolling herself against him. He chokes when she pushes her ass into his groin. His hands, useless in stopping her, given the circumstances.

"And I no longer want to strangle you in your sleep," she adds, chuckling.

He clears his throat, trying to make sense of what's happening. "That's comforting, princess."

She turns to face him then. He has to squint to get a good look at her, and still his vision blurs.

"What?" She frowns at him.

He groans, rolling his head to the side, ignoring her indigent expression "You're not actually here."

She studies him for a moment, deciding her next words carefully. "You had them too then-the hallucinations," she clarifies. "What have you seen?"

"The people we lost-the ones I killed," he replies, despite knowing he really shouldn't be entertaining this conversation.

No good can come from it.

"I don't know." He sighs. "A giant clusterfuck of fucked up shit."

She smirks at that, so unlike the Clarke he knows-the_ real _Clarke, that is. "Well, you haven't killed me yet, have you?"

_Yes _, he wants to say, _the day I closed the door to the rocket, _but he can't muster the strength to get the sentence out. Maybe that's why his brain has conjured her here, to torture himself all over again.

"I'm real, Bell," she coos, trailing her fingers down his chest.

If the nickname didn't give her away, the grip of her fist fondling the bulge in his pants certainly does.

He nearly kicks her off of him in a state of shock, but she's quick to straddle his lap before he gets the chance.

"Now I know you're not real," he manages, between pants.

The twist of her smile is haunting.

"That good, huh?" she asks, head cocked, grinding down on him with slow precision. A strangled moan escapes him, as he mindlessly bucks up against her. Her lips attack his neck. Everything is warm and inviting and _soft _. This doesn't feel the same as before-the visions of old ghosts mocking his apologies and basking in his guilt.

Her tongue is wet against his ear, his jaw, the corner of his mouth. Her fingers threading into his hair.

A horrible string of thoughts enter his mind and every muscle in his body is drawn taut.

"Wait, this isn't-I'd never want it like this."

She lets out an exasperated sigh against his shoulder, chest heaving against his own. "You know," she hums. "Murphy and Emori said high sex was the best and yet it's really starting to lose it's appeal with you being such a _fun _ruiner and all."

He grunts, determined to move his body as little as possible, although his cock seems to have other ideas, twitching against her thigh. The look of annoyance on her face, quick to turn mischievous, as she reaches down to play with his zipper.

He squeezes his eyes shut. "This isn't the same as being _hig h_," he grunts. "We tried to kill each other mere hours ago."

"You're in no position to hurt me, Blake," she teases, jerking the chain between his wrist.

It doesn't feel like at her at all, not like he imagined it would, or _could, _if they ever. . .

He winces, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, it's almost like you're not my only concern at the moment, princess," he bites out, bitterly.

"Why do you keep calling me that?" she asks, sharp.

His face grows hot, averting his gaze. "Old habits."

She looks at him strangely, before shrugging off her jacket. "I'm sorry you're still feeling the affect of the eclipse. Let me make you feel better, okay? It's been far too long since we've done this."

"_ We? _" he chokes out. "What-"

She shushes him with her mouth on his, softer this time, and he nearly melts into it, but she tastes wrong, too familiar, almost like. . .

He turns his head away before finishing the thought. She huffs, indigent.

"I can't. Even if this were real, this isn't how I'd want it to be. Not while I'm still with _her _, not while you're acting, so-"

"With who?" she snaps, narrowing her eyes.

"Echo, obviously, who else?"

Her eyes widen at that. "Echo," she repeats, bewildered.

"I don't know what the fuck my brain is trying to tell me with this-" He shrugs at his cuffs, helplessly. "_Whatever_ the hell this is, but I am really not in the mood to deal with this shit at the moment. So if you could just go back to whatever dark hole in my mind you crawled out of that'd be great, thanks."

Her silence is a short-lived reprieve, and when the pressure of her body lifts, he hopes the next time he opens his eyes, she'll be gone and he can finally rest under some semblance of peace.

"Do you love her?"

Hope shattered.

"Who?" he bites out, glaring up at the ceiling.

There's a pause. "Echo," she says, softer than he's heard her speak since she first appeared to him. He fights the urge to look at her, worried the ocean in her eyes will make him crave her as much as the real thing.

"Yes," he admits, wishing it didn't feel like the lie it isn't.

"But you love . . . _me _more, right?"

"Not like this," he grumbles.

She takes in a sharp, frustrated breath, pacing back and forth across the room. He waits for the footsteps to fade into nothing.

"Not the me standing before you," she continues, much to his dismay. "The one outside these walls."

His nails dig into his palms. "You know I do," he says, trying to keep his tone light. The less he gives into his emotions the sooner she'll disappear.

"Bellamy," she hedges, voice wobblier than before. "What's my name?"

"What?" he startles, blinking up at her.

"My name," she echoes. Her gaze has darkened considerably, he can barely make her out amongst the shadows.

"Clarke," he says, a relieved sigh falling from his lips.

It won't be long now.

Her laugh is cruel. "No," she spits. "That's the name of the face you _think _you see."

"Cool," he says, voice strained. "Are we done here?"

She scoffs at that. "You have _no_ idea, but soon you will."

He exhales slow, counting down the seconds for this nightmare to end.

"Oh, and Bellamy?"

He turns one last time, stunned by the figure he sees standing half way out the doorway, glowering at him.

"Thank you," she sniffs, muddy eyes pooling around the edges with unshed tears. "For freeing me from yet another cage."


End file.
